三
你從床上掀掉一條毯子，
你仰臥着，等待着；
你瞌睡着，觀望着黑夜顯示出
成千上萬個污穢的意象——
這些意象構成了你的靈魂。
這些意象在天花板上隱現。
當人世生活全都重新回來，
陽光在百葉窗中間爬上，
你聽到一隻麻雀在街溝中歌唱，
對你，街道呈現這樣一個景象，
對此，街道自己幾乎不能理解；
坐在床邊上，那裏
你捲着頭髮中的紙帶子，
或用兩衹腌膳的手掌
捏着黃黃的腳底心。
四
他的靈魂緊緊拉過了那片
消失於一座城市大鐘後面的天空，
他的靈魂給不停的腳步踩踏着，
在四點、五點和六點鐘。
又短又粗的手指填着煙斗，
一張張晚報，還有深信
某些必然的事的眼睛，
一條暗黑的街道的意識
急於要掌握這個世界。
我被那繚繞着、緊抱着
這些意象的幻想感動，
一種無窮的溫柔的
無窮的痛苦的事物的概念。
用手擦一下你的嘴，然後大笑，
世界旋轉着，像個古老的婦人
在空地中揀煤渣。
The winter evening settles down
With smell of steaks in passageways.
Six o'clock.
The burnt-out ends of smoky days.
And now a gusty shower wraps
The grimy scraps
Of withered leaves about your feet
And newspapers from vacant lots;
The showers beat
On broken blinds and chimney-pots,
And at the corner of the street
A lonely cab-horse steams and stamps.
And then the lighting of the lamps.
II
The morning comes to consciousness
Of faint stale smells of beer
From the sawdust-trampled street
With all its muddy feet that press
To early coffee-stands.
With the other masquerades
That time resumes,
One thinks of all the hands
That are raising dingy shades
In a thousand furnished rooms.
III
You tossed a blanket from the bed,
You lay upon your back, and waited;
You dozed, and watched the night revealing
The thousand sordid images
Of which your soul was constituted;
They flickered against the ceiling.
And when all the world came back
And the light crept up between the shutters,
And you heard the sparrows in the gutters,
You had such a vision of the street
As the street hardly understands;
Sitting along the bed's edge, where
You curled the papers from your hair,
Or clasped the yellow soles of feet
In the palms of both soiled hands.
IV
His soul stretched tight across the skies
That fade behind a city block,
Or trampled by insistent feet
At four and five and six o'clock;
And short square fingers stuffing pipes,
And evening newspapers, and eyes
Assured of certain certainties,
The conscience of a blackened street
Impatient to assume the world.
I am moved by fancies that are curled
Around these images, and cling:
The notion of some infinitely gentle
Infinitely suffering thing.
Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh;
The worlds revolve like ancient women
Gathering fuel in vacant lots.